


Within and Without

by superloonyluna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, I have a soft spot for characters who refuse to admit anything please don't come at me, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Pining, because I'm incapable of writing anything without it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superloonyluna/pseuds/superloonyluna
Summary: A quick story of how Sirius realises he's fallen for his best friend. The most reasonable thing he can do is ignore it, obviously, because nothing good could happen from admitting how he feels...or could it?
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	Within and Without

**Author's Note:**

> hello, so I had a shorter version of this posted on an old tumblr and someone sent me a message (literally years ago now) asking for more so I thought why not. Better late than never, hah. Also I intended this to be 1000 words max, so I don't really know what happened...

**First year:** Sirius is euphoric at finally, _finally_ escaping the incarceration of Grimmauld place – the utter desperation to _get out_ that had been curdling under his skin for _years_ is finally satiated as he pushes his way through the jostling platform and tumbles headlong into an equally elevated James. Sirius isn’t sure, doesn’t have time to think about it – but it’s something about the easiness of James’ smile, the way his eyes seem to dance with the same feeling that Sirius can feel coursing through him; but whatever it is James can obviously feel it to, because he latches onto Sirius with just as much enthusiasm, and pulls drags him over to his parents so he can bid them a hasty and uninterested goodbye. Sirius is startled as Mrs Potter hugs her son tightly even as he squirms away, is used to his own mother offering him nothing but a sharp slap across his cheek; and is even more shocked when Mrs Potter turns to him, reaching out to the boy her son hasn’t known for a full five minutes, caressing that same cheek with a softness to her expression Sirius yearns for and begging them to _stay out of trouble._ Her knowing smile tells him that James is a likeminded spirit. 

The two careen down the train corridor; and James appears to know a few people already – Sirius would too; pureblood families have been known to mix and socialise, but his mother’s pride kept him stowed away. At the back of the last carriage there is an unoccupied compartment; except when they burst through the door they discover that it isn’t quite empty – a smallish boy sits pressed into the corner of the bench, curled up against the window: his backbone. There is a book, the frayed spine drawing Sirius’ eye; held between hands that are half hidden beneath cardigan sleeves, too long and equally frayed - loose, light brown curls brushing the boy’s forehead just over reserved but expectant eyes. He offers them a smile and an introduction as they throw themselves down onto the opposite bench, filling the compartment with their conviviality. Despite his slightly withdrawn appearance, the two louder boys soon find themselves laughing with the quieter one, and the three pass a memorable train ride. 

Sirius, endeared by Remus’ sharp wit and reticent, yet surprisingly inappropriate humour, also notices the loose threads at the edge of his robes when they change just before arriving at the platform; how his shoulders were slightly curved – as though they carried something much heavier than the weight of eleven years. 

Sirius is sorted before the other two, and he rams on the hat with a rigid sort of determination, and the hat, holding the rehearsed drawl of _Slytherin_ behind its rip hesitates, hearing the resolute _don’t you bloody dare,_ and thinks, ‘a _little_ more courtesy would be greatly appreciated, Black, however, _GRYFFINDOR_.’ Later, lying in his new four poster, encompassed by the slow breathing of those deep in sleep, Sirius thinks that maybe this is what a home feels like; tastes the word and whispers it into the slumbering dormitory; it sounds foreign on his tongue, and his cheeks colour with embarrassment. Feeling a little childish, he hastily contorts the word into a scornful snort. 

But the castle smiles, envelopes the small, broken eleven year old in its withered but benevolent hands; replacing those which knew only how to deliver pain – and by the end of the year the word home is no longer foreign and out of place in Sirius’ mind; but is now attached to memories of the maze of corridors, old and dingy classrooms, the pure _loudness_ of the common room, the grinning, mischievous faces of three other small boys who, each in their own way, are all at home in a way they never thought possible. 

**Second year:** Sirius has waited feverishly for the entirety of the summer break, has counted down the days until the first of September, and arrives alone on the platform; his parents concerned with his younger, and considerably more worthy brother. He crashes into James, then Peter, who they had met in the middle of a particularly sluggish lesson, and who’s veneration the pair willingly soaked up. Sirius’ received his parting goodbye again from the Potters, who were familiar with him now after the week he had spent at their house. Sirius finds himself scanning the crowds for the familiar sight of golden-brown curls, anticipation coiling in his stomach at the thought of seeing his friend. He drags James away from a group of first years, yelling teasingly over his shoulder that James can flaunt his newfound superiority later. Pushing his way through the carriages, barely paying attention as classmates called out - and there he is, tucked again into the corner of the carriage, though his demur is less restrained; his hair has grown a little, and a fresh, thin scar is peeking out of his collar. Sirius bounds across to fling an arm around his neck as Remus stands, a grin falling to his lips, and Sirius notices that the jumper is slightly less baggy around his shoulders, and that Remus is now a good inch taller than him, much to the hilarity of James and Peter. 

Sitting in the great hall during sorting, Sirius’ shoulders tense involuntarily as the B’s roll around, knowing where his brother is about to be sorted and already anticipating the gloating that will follow. He feels a prodding in his wrist, and, looking down, sees Remus holding his knife, his eyes dancing. Sirius smirks, picking up his own to face the challenge, and is oblivious as Regulus is pronounced a true Black - too busy attempting to bar Remus’ surprisingly strong strokes. As the sorting is creeping towards the G’s, Nearly Headless Nick leans through the table to take a swat at them, and Remus puts his knife down. Sirius glances sideways, but his _thank you_ gets stuck somewhere in his throat. His shoulder nudges against Remus’ instead, who shrugs slightly before turning his attention back to the sorting. Sirius likes the warm, easy smile that touched the corners of his eyes and spends the rest of the year thinking of ways to make it return.

The remainder of dinner passes as they plot an elaborate prank, primarily to establish their dominance over the lesser beings of first years, such tiny people who, James and Sirius agree fervently, definitely needed to be shown their place. After deciding on a spell, Sirius turns eagerly to his right, and to his surprise, is met with a snort and a casual mention of a harder, but much more effective spell. Peter leans across him to give Remus an over-enthusiastic thump on the back and, catching Sirius’ raised eyebrow, Remus grins sheepishly, mumbling _I could do with a bit of fun, that’s all._ The next morning, the four are running pell-mell down the corridor, giddy with their triumph, and Sirius feels his childhood fly out behind him. 

**Third year:** Remus arrives at the door of the compartment ten minutes after the train has pulled out from the station, mumbling a quiet hello in a flat, tired voice. The three know about his secret now, and Sirius throws a glance at James before pulling Remus into a tight hug, as though by doing so he can squeeze the life back into him. Sometime after the trolley has been and gone, Remus falls asleep, and the three are unusually quiet, hissing at people who are particularly raucous as they pass their compartment. 

Remus, across from him at the table, perks up slightly as the desert materialises, pushing his hair off his forehead in a futile attempt to keep it in place, and Sirius finds his gaze lingering on the movement for a second too long. His eyes often find Remus in class, as well, or as he lies sprawled out across a squashy armchair in the common room – though this is for absolutely no reason at all. One evening, just before the full moon, Sirius wakes to find the bed next to him unoccupied. Padding downstairs, clutching a box of chocolate frogs, Sirius finds him, curled in the corner of their favourite sofa by the glowing embers of yesterday’s fire. He empties the box in Remus’ lap; met with a startled glance which slowly subsides into amusement. 

_Couldn’t sleep either?_ Sirius nods, shrugging. _I have scars too_ is bubbling in his chest, but he knows he must wait until they have figured out how to help before he says anything. So instead he takes a breath and tells Remus why he used to flinch when people touched him, and why he never goes home at Christmas. 

When the glow of the early morning sun replaces the light from the coals, the two are asleep under a single shared blanket, frayed by the love of hundreds of Gryffindors, lying next to a pile of empty wrappers and Chocolate Frog cards, the occupants of which had all been charmed into curious contortions; Artemisia Lufkin now sporting a moustache and a rather interesting nose. 

Walking back alone from a particularly arduous detention one afternoon, Sirius overhears the conversation of two fifth year girls as they exit a Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. His mind catches on the words _werewolf_ and _savage_ and his fist automatically clenches around his wand. That night, he and James sneak into the library under cover of the invisibility cloak and spend a good hour in the section for Charms and Curses. The next day, both girls are mysteriously missing from class and a rumour spreads through the school that they in the hospital wing, immobile and covered with boils. Sirius finds that he doesn’t feel at all guilty, grinning heartily with the rest of their class at the news. 

James ropes them all into helping him practice for the Quidditch finals, except he doesn’t really need practice and it’s more to show off. Soon, bored with his antics, Sirius finds himself tearing after Remus around the pitch – who is a surprisingly nimble flyer, and the two dart between the goal posts and around the stands in a giddy chase. Remus throws a wide, taunting grin over his shoulder and Sirius is momentarily thrown off balance, wondering with a little confusion if his heart is beating unnecessarily fast from the thrill of flying or because of the boy a few meters ahead of him, who is currently dragging the heal of his shoe along the Slytherin stands and leaving a black gash in his wake. Sirius decides that he blames it on the flying – he hasn’t been on a broom in months and he had forgotten how much he loves it. 

However, he’s not flying a few days later when it happens again – this time in class. They have been passing notes back and forth all lesson, and Sirius can’t remember what he had written but Remus had tossed him that same smile before scribbling out his reply; a wicked, carefree kind of grin and Sirius, trying to slow his pounding heart, and telling himself it’s because Professor Mcgonagall has just narrowed her eyes in a stern reprimand at their disruption, and dimly acknowledges that he’s running out of excuses. 

**Fourth year:** Remus greats them at the station, and Sirius, meeting his eye, gets an unexplained jolt in his stomach. Brushing it off, he pulls him into a hug, noticing as he does so that Remus’ shoulders are boarder, and that his jumper is stretched slightly around his arms; and consequently finds himself flinging an arm around his shoulders more often than is strictly necessary. Not five minutes into the train ride, Peter has spread out his holiday work in front of Remus who smiles, and, pulling out his wand, patiently begins to correct Peter’s mistakes. Sirius watches his relaxed smile and swallows, his chest uncomfortably tight, and spends the remainder of the journey with James, hidden just out of sight outside the compartment where Lily and her friends are seated, attempting to slip a vaporised love potion through the gap under the door. 

One Herbology lesson, Remus is dragged over to another table by Marleen. Her hand lingers a little too long on his arm, and she leans in to whisper something that has them both giggling and leaves Remus’ cheeks tinged with pink. Sirius does his best to ignore them, because it really isn’t his problem, and he should be happy for Remus, but he can’t help but laugh when the tentacles of the water plant Marleen has been pruning manages to snake around her wrists and force her to call for help, ducking her head in embarrassment. 

Sirius kisses a girl that year – admittedly to spite James, who thought he could do it first; and Sirius threads his fingers through her long, dark hair and doesn’t think much more than _take that, Prongs._ Her kisses are soft and insistent and at the time Sirius likes it, likes the small, needy noises that she makes, likes how her fingers scrabble for purchase on his arms, likes how she makes him feel confident and daring; but, standing in the silent greenhouse after she has gone, Sirius is left wondering why, in the back of his mind, he was thinking of shorter, much lighter curls. He takes a few more girls to the greenhouse after that, or the library, or sometimes, if he’s feeling particularly brash, he doesn’t even leave the common room – now focusing on not allowing his mind to wander to other places, or, dare he admit, to other people. 

Girls seem to like him, and he finds he enjoys the slightly arrogant elation he feels when he receives a coy blush in return for a grin or wink – but, once, he tries this on Remus, throwing him the same smile he’d given Jess after he’d kissed her – one that had left her gazing at him with wide eyes and parted lips, but one Remus simply returns with a raised eyebrow and a cool, slightly challenging smirk and Sirius, as much as he wants to, can’t ignore the fact that a simple look has him feeling more than any one of his past kisses. One transfiguration lesson they are given a surprise quiz that Sirius can’t finish because, glancing over at the desk diagonally to his right, catches Remus sucking absently on his quill and looks down, his mouth suddenly dry. Blood pounds in his ears and he rereads the same sentence five times before he understands it. That night, waking up with his heart racing and fists twisting the bed covers, Sirius glances to the bed beside him, currently cast in shadow, and thinks that, maybe it won’t happen again. He kisses the next girl more forcefully, focusing the fullness of her breasts and is definitely, _definitely_ not thinking of Remus’ lips. 

**Fifth year:** Sirius is dropped off at the station by the Potters, and does not look for his brother in the crowd. Their compartment is warm from the sun and endearingly familiar. Flung into seats – half listening to James as he described, with slightly alarming precision, the exact way Lily had moved from talking to her friends on the platform to entering the train; and Sirius remembers with a disgruntled swoop in his stomach that Prefect duties will keep Remus away for the majority of the journey; and subsequently finds his eyes flitting backwards and forwards between the compartment door and his friends for the next four and a half hours.

This is their OWL year, and stress gives Remus a temper that’s little shorter and retorts that are a little more biting, and Sirius finds himself falling into a habit of kicking him lightly under the table when they are all supposed to be studying for the singular thrill of having Remus glare at him with a small hint of danger behind his eyes at the distraction. Even though he’s tired and strung out like every one else in the year, used to many late nights and few hours of rest, Sirius will always, always drag himself down to breakfast because Remus is especially cynical in the morning, and Sirius finds that nothing can make him laugh harder than Remus’ derisive sarcasm. 

Late one evening, after a solitary visit to the library to research syrup of hellebore for the Draft of Peace, which James perfected last lesson and of which Sirius is tired of producing consistent failures; he stumbles upon an already occupied corridor. Remus stands, entwined tightly around Alison Bones; his fingers trail a delicate path up her thigh, before brushing her tinged cheek – her hands disappearing down the front of his robes to do Merlin knew what. It takes Sirius all of ten seconds to realise that he does not want to see this, and, five minutes later stands against the door in their dormitory, its resounding slam mingling with the pounding in his ears. Sirius’ memory of Remus’ soft moan bounces around the room before cork screwing up his own ears – Sirius thinks he might have growled before the glass pane surrenders to his fist and collapse around his anger. 

Pain doesn’t seem to make its way into his brain, laboured breath loud in his ears as _he was never yours_ ping pongs against his conscience. He closes his eyes against the blood blossoming across his knuckles, repairs the glass and remains distant and aloof for the next week; pride set in a vigilant _I don’t care._ Remus is eventually tired of asking _what’s wrong_ and ignores Sirius right back. He only relents when James has assured him with a confused smirk at his hissed question one Transfiguration lesson, loosing ten points from Gryffindor in the process for their lack of attention that no, Remus isn’t seeing anyone. 

They have finally managed to transform, and, under the pretence of studying, press their heads together over the dusty pages of unused volumes that Sirius has an odd fondness for, to discuss the exact way they should tell him. James, compliant to his usual extravaganza, proudly flourishes a documented compilation of all their failed attempts to transform that has Sirius and Peter snorting with suppressed laughter, falling hastily silent as Madam Pince narrows her eyes from behind a bookshelf. Later that evening, however, when they are all seated around the fire and James clears his throat with a little too much enthusiasm, Sirius forgets the carefully rehearsed words -instead looks Remus right in the eye, and, in a slightly hysterical whisper, tells him _Re, we know._

Sirius had prepared himself for denial, for harsh spiteful words, even for gratitude – but he isn’t prepared for the way his heart slams to a stop, how the commotion around them seems to falter as Remus breaks down completely, choking out _but I’m a monster._ Sirius has a hand clenched around Remus’ shaking wrist, and a sharp strangled _no_ leaves his lips as Peter lets out a muffled giggle. “Please,” says James in exasperation, “you don’t like it when people fold the corners because it ruins the page. You give chocolate to people you don’t know just because you think they look a little upset. You wear knitted, homemade cardigans. Forgive me if I don’t quake in terror at the sight of you.” He winks; “I can always start though.”

As Remus lets out a shaky, disbelieving laugh, Sirius can’t comprehend how he can be afraid of losing his friends, when really, Sirius thinks, catching the admiration in Peter’s eyes, and the compassion hidden behind James’ jest, it is the other way around, and the three were terrified they would lose _him._

**Sixth year:** Before they’ve even stepped onto the train, James and Sirius bump into a small crowd of first years gathered around a boy telling a thrilling and possibly exaggerated tale of how a werewolf had ravaged through a town leaving it utterly devastated. Sirius, patience already pulled taught after a month under his mother’s scrutiny, feels something in him snap, and is lunging for the small boy before he can stop himself. James has to physically drag him away, pushing him up against the side of the train, and is shaking his head with a confused shadow in his eyes that Sirius doesn’t like the look of. _Pads, what the hell? They’re kids;_ he hisses, and Sirius doesn’t care, bites out a snarky retort and shakes James off. 

Sirius decides later that this train ride was the worst he’s ever been through – and usually he loves the ride to Hogwarts, feels like he’s finally going somewhere he can call home after brutal animosity that greets him at Grimmauld Place every summer. But Remus has somehow perfected wandless magic over the holidays and it does things to Sirius that he can’t even admit to himself – and he has to open the window and stick his head out into the wind racing by as the train hurtles across Scotland, because he literally cannot breathe. He finds his eyes fixed on the faint trail of hair visible when Remus stretches to get his trunk down from the luggage rack, wipes sweaty hands on uncomfortably tight jeans and thanks heaven that they are changing into their robes now. He can’t get onto the platform quick enough, because the entire compartment seems to be filled with Remus and every time Sirius glances up, there he is, summoning his clothes simply by _glancing_ at them and it’s intoxicating. 

Sirius can’t fall asleep that night, his mind unhelpfully filling with thoughts of the boy in the bed next to his, and no matter how much he tries to push them away he can’t seem to succeed. He decides that the best thing he can do is try and ignore it; because nothing, _nothing,_ is worth risking their friendship for. He thinks it shouldn’t be so hard, but he’s sorely underestimated everything when the next day, leaning against the door waiting to go into their transfiguration lesson, Regulus passes with a sneer and Remus, apparently seeing through his brazen shrug of indifference, leans over and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear with such a warm look in his eye that Sirius is lost for words. He can ignore it though, he _can._ Just like he can ignore how his hands shake for the rest of class when Remus presses a teasing kiss to his cheek, how Remus’ smile, appearing suddenly and without any sort of warning makes him go weak at the knees and how sometimes, when he’s particularly angry, Remus will get a hard, blazing look in his eyes that makes Sirius forget that he has knees at all. He can’t ignore though, no matter how hard he tries, how he’s more than absolutely certain he’s falling into something he won’t be able to get himself out of. Sirius always does everything with his entire being, and he’s never minded it – until now when he finds himself caring about this boy more than he’s cared for anyone – this boy, who is supposed to be nothing more than his best friend.

It’s only when they have to brew Amortentia one Potion lesson that Sirius realises he’s truly done for, utterly wrecked if you will; cursing Remus and his goddamn intelligence because now the entire room smells of him, and Sirius knows it was pointless - foolish even, to think he could try and ignore the fact that he is painfully, unequivocally in love with him. As is the sixth year tradition, they play spin the bottle in the Slytherin common room, and Sirius has to suffer through a painful night where Remus is drunk and carefree and decidedly _flirtatious_ because it makes him hope for things he has no business hoping for. But then he is no longer hopeful and he has to watch as Marleen’s hand does something under Remus’ trousers that has his back arching and his head falling against the cushions – now _hope_ is the furthest thing from Sirius’ mind and it’s more on the lines of fury, and, god, how he wants him. 

James and Lily are friends now, and, sick of waiting, they decide the only solution is what they are all best at. James snags some Veritaserum from an unassuming Slughorn, and slips some into Sirius’ coffee. Running head long into Remus not ten minutes later, Sirius finds himself babbling, confessing, against his will that all he can think of is him, him, him. Later, after the potion has worn off, Sirius is hiding, mortified and his mind in chaos – thinking he’s not only ruined the slim chance that something could happen between them, but also the best friendship he’s ever had. It’s then when Remus finds him, takes in his misery in a quick glance and kisses him, hard and a little angry – because six years is a _long_ time to keep quiet, and _screw you for not saying anything._ Fisting a hand through his curls, unable to stop his own answering grin and feeling something close to joy burst through him, Sirius thinks that Veritaserum might have been the best prank James has ever come up with.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title is from the Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald 
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated, so please consider leaving one if you have a spare minute :) 
> 
> much love, and feel free to come yell at me on my tumblr - https://www.tumblr.com/blog/superloonyluna


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